


destination: badlands

by hurricanekid



Series: destination: [2]
Category: Into the Badlands (TV)
Genre: M/M, Season 1 centric, Slow Burn, Sometimes you just have to flee across the country to believe you can love a guy, i hate you but i really love you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 15:23:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurricanekid/pseuds/hurricanekid
Summary: Nothing is guaranteed in this life. Sunny has learned that by now. But that doesn't make it any less painful to have watched Veil slip away, after sharing a friendship that could've but couldn't have gone any further. But when M.K. shows up, and he has to train an imbecile ten years younger than he is, everything changes.In which Sunny goes and falls in love with M.K. and they make a run for it. The slowest of burns.





	destination: badlands

Sunny’s been trained as a Colt since he was five. It was never the life he thought he would lead, but in these times, it’s practically impossible to assume that anything is guaranteed in life.

He learns these lessons the hard way.

He doesn’t remember his parents, or anything about his past, really. There’s a fleeting feeling of recognition when he picks up M.K.’s necklace, but it’s nothing more than misplaced hope, he’ll later reason.

He’s picked up by Waldo at six, and at sixteen, Sunny becomes one of the youngest Clippers to stand at Quinn's side.

His training turns him into a colder person than he ever expected. Sunny learns from Waldo how to hide his true emotions, to suffer at the hands of others and remain unfazed, to take great damage and still be able to stand and fight, and win, at the end of it.

By eighteen, he becomes a regent, and has fifty tally marks tattooed on his back.

The most important thing is the placement of the tattoos. They are where he can't see them. 

Sunny will never admit to it, but he feels guilty. Every time that he gets a new tattoo on his back – every time he kills someone – he wonders if it'll be the last time before he finally gets snuffed out by someone else. He dreams of escaping by night and leaving this terrible past behind. But he’d never tell Quinn that he wants to leave, because to do that would ensure his death, and surely there must be something better in this life than killing others and being a servant to a man who does not deserve the power he has. The fear Quinn commands? That, he deserves.

At age twenty five he picks up his first Colt.

The boy is named M.K., who's only fifteen, but full of fire and a desire to go to a home he doesn't know how to get back to. M.K. is too cocky and insolent for someone being spared by the Head Clipper for one of the most powerful barons in the Badlands. Not to mention that the boy is also a complete imbecile in the ring. For someone with supposed powers that could annihilate an entire army, he is terrible at defending himself.

Sunny wants to do right be M.K.. After discovering that M.K. has the same pendant as he does, Sunny hides it from him for a year, thinking it's the better choice, that M.K. will forget where he's from and lose that sense of purpose, but it completely backfires. M.K. gets pissed at Sunny, and they wind up on terrible terms. M.K. doesn't speak to Sunny unless absolutely necessary for six months, and it's ostensibly the worst six months of Sunny’s life. 

At twenty-eight, he's trying to convince himself he's not in love with M.K., and distracts himself by wicking Veil, who winds up dead after three months. 

At thirty, all hell breaks loose and M.K. and Sunny break free, and head for Azra, a dream in Sunny’s head and little more than reality in M.K.’s.

If they can make it across the wasteland, maybe Sunny will let himself be happy for once in his life. 

Maybe. 

* * *

Quinn leaves Sunny bruised and broken, but it’s nothing Veil can’t fix.

It’s Sunny’s own damn fault for starting the relationship anyways. A kind smile, something he hasn’t been used to, is flashed his way, and it’s completely his own weakness that he pulls her into his arms and kisses her.

It’s doubly his own weakness when he starts wicking her, but she is a oasis of peace in a violent world.

Veil teaches him to read, to write, and they’re working through James Joyce’s  _ Ulysses _ when everything goes to hell.

Veil is killed, because there simply can’t be any allowances made for those who try to educate Clippers beyond their station.

* * *

“I know you want to escape.” Sunny tells him, later.

“Nothing gets by you, does it, Sunny?” M.K. questions, as he downs the last of his gin. It tastes like swill, but it’ll get the job done – gets him tipsier than he should be.

“No.” Sunny says quietly. They sit there, in the dirt and hay on top of the wall, watching the sunrise.

“I feel like there's never going to be an end to Quinn's greed.” M.K. changes the subject.

“There might not ever be.” Sunny tells him, allowing the change.

The sun peeks out from the line of trees, and shines over Sunny’s tattooed back. The tallies on his back can almost be ignored, but they still stand strong against the contrast of the light on his skin.

Sunny notices M.K.’s eyes on him, and looks at him, and catches his gaze, which falters, as M.K. looks down at his feet.

It’s not often that Sunny takes the time to think of what it would be like to love M.K., but in this quiet moment, he imagines what their life would be like, if they escaped, if they lived.

* * *

It is warm. They are safe.

Sunny would wake up, arms draped lazily around M.K.’s body, and shake him awake. Gently. There would be no need for anything to be violent. The closest a blade would be to his skin would be for shaving.

M.K. would roll over into his arms, still half-asleep, and smile.

_ God _ , can Sunny imagine that smile. It would be crooked, loving, and above all a hint annoyed because  _ Sunny you do this every day. _

_ Well I only do it because you wouldn’t get up any other way. _

_ I’m not complaining. _

And M.K. would kiss him, and Sunny wouldn’t bring himself to care about morning breath. They would tangle in the sheets, kissing and doing  _ other things _ that would make Sunny blush if he wasn’t supposed to have such a stiff upper lip on his emotions anyway.

They would get up, take care of their morning breath, shower, make breakfast, and Sunny would get to touch M.K.. Without feeling ashamed. Like what they're doing is dirty.

Of all the things he wants, though, the closeness is everything. With Veil, he could never be too close to her, even when they were together, the mental barriers kept them apart.

But with M.K., there would be none of that. He could be pressed as close to M.K. as he wanted, and tell him  _ everything _ , and wouldn’t have to worry about any repercussions, because M.K. would love him.

_ I love you _ , he’d say.

And Sunny would just kiss him, and tell him,  _ I love you, too. _

* * *

That’s where his heart begins to sing, so hopeful for a future that might not even happen. Even though he’s been taught to tamp down on any and all of his emotions, Sunny still wants, and boy, does he  _ want _ . When Sunny looks over at M.K., at his shoulders, which have slowly but steadily been filling out for the past few years, he wonders what it would be like to press his head to the space between his shoulder blades.

For his lips to press over the swell of his spine, to feel the warmth of M.K.’s skin under his touch. To know that someone would let him be so close, to trust him, to know he wouldn’t hurt them.

But the sun rises, and Sunny finishes what’s left in his flask, and stands.

“Head back to the barracks. I’ll see you at ten.”

M.K. pushes himself to his feet.

“I want to kiss you.” They are alone – there are no other Clippers or Colts patrolling this section of the wall, but still, Sunny feels the threat of impending doom.

“That’s a stupid idea and we both know it.” This isn’t something they talk about. M.K. kissed him once,  _ once _ , when they were both drunk out of their minds last spring, after an assault on rogue nomads had gone horribly wrong.

“I know.” M.K. admits. “But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Sunny looks around, and stretches his arms over his head.

“If you want to try, there’s no guarantee I won’t fling you off the wall.”

“I’d like to see you try, old man.” M.K. smirks, and Sunny glares at him.

“You wouldn’t say that shit to any other Clipper.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t.”

“Because they’d kick your ass.”

“You wouldn’t.” M.K. backtalks, and in an instant, Sunny’s backed him against the wall, M.K. surging forward, kissing him.

M.K.’s tongue is in his mouth, and Sunny’s hands find themselves holding M.K.’s face close. For a moment, Sunny lets himself forget, that they’re surrounded by dangers, that this is beyond disapproved upon, that there is no chance for happiness.

It’s a fantasy of a moment, so when M.K. separates from him, and their lips disconnect with a faint pop, Sunny makes his decision.

“This can’t happen again.”

M.K.’s eyes are blown wide, and he’s out of breath, hair mussed up from Sunny’s hands. His smile curls around his teeth, and his lower lip gets caught on his upper teeth.

“But it was nice, don’tcha think?”

“It can’t happen again.” Sunny ignores the remark.

“Well, you didn’t deny it, so I’ll take it as a win.” M.K. smirks, but when Sunny isn’t looking his eyes fall.

* * *

Tilda gets M.K.’s message. He never doubted that she would get it, but he wondered if she would show up.

She does.

“What’s wrong?” It’s the middle of the night, and she looks weary from her travels, but still pats the ground beside her, and the air all but whooshes out of M.K. as he collapses across her lap.

“I have a problem.”

“No shit, M.K..” She tells him, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear, and scratching her neck. He wraps his arms around her waist, head pressed into her abdomen.

“Thank you.”

“You haven’t even said anything, why are you thanking me?” M.K. can’t see her face, but he knows all too well the quizzical expression that exists on her face.

“Because you’re always there for me. You rode out in the middle of the night to listen to my problems, even though I’m an enemy.”

“You’re not. Quinn, maybe, but you, you’re not.”

“I wonder what your mother would say about that.” M.K. turns, and stares up at Tilda.

“I’m here to talk about you, M.K., not my mother. Now tell me what’s going on. We don’t have all night.”

“I love him.” M.K. laments to Tilda, wondering if this confession will bite him ass. 

“Who?”

“Sunny.” M.K. turns his face back into her clothes, embarrassed. “And we’ve kissed. A few times.”

She holds his head in her lap, bends down, and kisses his hair. Her fingers card through his hair, and he can almost remember his mother in moments like these, when she used to comfort him, and hold him close. Tilda’s presence is reassuring, and in the moment, he is grateful that they have ceased being enemies.

“I'm sorry.” She offers. 

“Thanks.” M.K. just exhales a shuddering breath, and lets himself be held. “I just … I admire him.”   


“I think you’re a little more far-gone than that.” Tilda remarks, giving his hair a quick ruffle.

“Shut up.” M.K. huffs.

“You wanted to see me.” She gently reminds him. “You wanted to know what I’d say.”

The enclave is quiet – far away from The Widow’s and Quinn’s territory.

“Imagine what would’ve happened had you fallen in love with me.” Tilda remarks a few moments later. “What chaos that would create.”

“There’s chaos already, because I love him. Nothing will turn out well.”

“That’s obvious, don’t you think?” Rhetorical, to mock him. “But does he know?” 

“I wouldn’t doubt it if he already did. He probably knew before  _ I _ did.” M.K. tells her. “Hero-worship gone wrong.”

“Quite.” Tilda agrees, smoothing his hair. “But you’ll be fine – you’ll figure it out.”

“What if I don’t?” He turns in her lap, and stares up at her.

“You always do, M.K., I wouldn’t worry about that. If Sunny hasn’t pushed back at you thus far, I’d say he has to feel something for you.”   


“Pity, maybe.”

“That’s why he keeps kissing you? Because he pities you?”

“I don’t know.” M.K. complains. “Maybe because it relieves stress? Who knows? It’s not like he can kiss anyone else, especially after Veil.”

“Veil … who was she? Her name sounds familiar.”   


“Don't you remember? She was that doctor, the adopted daughter of Vernon and Hannah – you know, Vernon was Quinn's doctor. He told Quinn about the tumor, and Quinn ordered them killed by Sunny, but Sunny wouldn’t do it, because he was fucking Veil at the time. But she wound up dying a month later, but not before she had told Sunny.”

“I must have known her then. But Quinn, having a tumor?”

“In his brain. He might not live long enough to see the winter solstice.”

“If I get my mother involved it would be even sooner than that.”

“Tilda, don’t. It’s too dangerous.”

“You want him in charge? You want to be afraid to be with the man you love, and to worry about what person will snatch power next, like Ryder or Lydia? No.” Tilda’s eyes harden around the edges. “We shouldn’t wait. It’s safer in my mother’s hands.”

“I don’t disagree with you, but what efforts are you going to go to ensure her rule?”

“Any.”

“Tilda … What if we left – you came with me and Sunny? I want to find Azra. I know I can convince him, and you could come too.” He sits up, and grabs both her hands in his.

“M.K.,” she whispers, seemingly distraught, “I can't. My place is by my mother’s side, and I can't leave her. I want to watch her build a better world.”

“Tilda…” There is nothing he can say to convince her, and it burns. Tilda looks sorrowful, but there is no regret behind her eyes. She knows her place, and will remain there until her end.

“I know,” she murmurs. “Now go. I don’t need us getting in trouble.”

M.K. stands, and grasps her hand and squeezes, once, then leaves. He doesn’t look back, but he has the feeling that when she departs, she won’t either.

* * *

It happens again.

It’s just kissing. 

It’s late at night, and they’ve gotten back from patrol with Quinn and five other Clippers and two of their Colts, and everyone’s headed off to bed, and it’s just M.K. and Sunny left in the weapons storeroom. They’ve been ordered to do the menial task of cleaning the other Clippers weapons – well, M.K. had been, but he dragged Sunny into it to keep him company. 

And Sunny can’t resist some alone time – he’s selfish like that. The moments they have together are not frequent enough, even though they shouldn’t be happening in the first place. But, he is selfish, and he  _ wants _ , so Sunny stays.

M.K. is there, in the low lamplight, cleaning the blood off the swords, and the light, elbow grease, and sweat catch  _ just right _ , and there Sunny is, pulling M.K.’s chin up, and kissing him silly. 

M.K. responds with enthusiasm, and they stand there, making out in the lowlight, as birds chirp and the insects sing behind their ears.

“I wish we had more time.” M.K. tells him, their foreheads pressed together, still sharing another's’ breath. “I wish we had more of this.”

“Don't we all.” Sunny says flatly. M.K. rolls his eyes, and pushes away from him.

“Don't be like that.”

“Like what? Realistic?” Sunny argues. “That this situation–” he gestures between them – “isn't going to have consequences? Like we’re going to have a happy ending? That maybe, just maybe, Quinn won't slit both our throats when we least expect it?”

M.K. stands there, arms crossed, looking indignant and pissed off. 

“You know what, Sunny, fuck you.” It's all bite, and Sunny knows M.K.’s only saying to get a rise out of him, but as much as he wants to rise to the bait, he softens. Takes a step closer. Puts a hand on M.K.’s arm, who shrugs it off, but still stands near him. 

“I hate it when you do this.” M.K. says suddenly. “You never argue with me when I take shit out on you and I wish I knew what’s going on in that head of yours! And I feel like I’m drowning when I'm with you and I don't know how to handle it!” M.K. claps a hand over his mouth, and his cheeks turn pink as his eyes widen in the realization of what he had said.

Sunny’s breath is caught in his throat, and he tries to inhale and speak at the same time, but all that comes out is a raspy sound. He can feel every nerve in his body tingling, and tries to speak again, thoughts swirling around in his head.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. 

M.K. drops to the ground, head buried in his hands. 

“Fuck me, I shouldn't have said– I didn't mean to say anything.”

Sunny sits next to him, and presses a cool palm to M.K.’s neck, and finds himself wanting to say:

“I think … I've been waiting for you to say that for years. But even still … I can't let this go on anymore. We're not safe and I won't jeopardize our safety.”

M.K. looks pained, mouth curling into a grimace. He then leans over, and presses a solemn kiss to the corner of Sunny’s mouth. 

“Maybe in some other life, we’ll try for our happy ending.”

He pushes himself up and wipes his dirty hands on his pants, and strides away, leaving Sunny alone.

* * *

Eventually, like M.K. suspected and feared, Quinn finds out. He brings M.K. into the cellar, late one night after realizing what was going on – the plotting, scheming and dreaming of some better fate than being ruled by an iron fist.

Quinn sneers at M.K. “You thought you could pull one over on me, did you?”

M.K.’s chin is raised, defiant. “I was doing what was right.”

“No.” Quinn corrects him. “What's right is what I tell you to do. Anything else that I don't allow is a sin.”

“You’re no god, Quinn.” M.K. spits. “And even if that means that you kill me, I’ll take it.”

Quinn’s face darkens, and a thrill of fear runs through M.K.’s body.

“That will be the last time you disrespect me, boy.”

Quinn forces M.K. into the cell, and ties him to the wall. “Even with those powers of yours, boy, you won't be escaping those ropes. And after I'm done with you … you'll tell me all you know.”

“Go to hell.” M.K. sneers at him. He knows what’s going to happen next, it's only a matter of moments – seconds – so he steels himself as best he can, and hopes that Sunny’s training will have prepared him well enough, and that he won't lash out at Quinn, despite the pull.

Still, when Quinn strikes him across the face, the harsh sting of palm against cheek, rings against flesh, M.K. winces. No blood has been drawn, yet, but it'll be raised and irritated for weeks.

Quinn turns, and walks out of M.K.’s line of sight for a moment, and then he advances with a whip, and after the first crack draws blood, M.K. lets everything fall away. 

* * *

Quinn leaves M.K. a bruised, bloody pulp, and even with M.K.’s powers, still has him tied to the wall, and makes absolutely certain that he is locked away.

“You’re not to go near the boy.” He warns Sunny, as they stand outside the the main cell block. 

“Yes, Baron.” Sunny says, gritting his teeth behind his lie.

“When he wakes, we’ll find out everything he knows. Then use him to our advantage.”

“Of course, Baron.” Alarm bells start ringing in Sunny’s head, as he dips his head and leaves the room. There is nothing that M.K. can reveal to Quinn without compromising the whole endeavor, so their only option left now is to escape.

His feet carry him quickly down the hall, and he begins to formulate a plan. 

Wake M.K. up. Free him. Escape from Quinn’s section of the Badlands. Go to the Widow. Get supplies. Leave for Azra. Never look back.

He enters the dungeon, and tentatively adds another item to his plan. Confess feelings.

M.K. is behind bars, unconscious, which is unsurprising, with no one guarding him, which is. He doesn’t look good, bruised and battered, and Sunny yearns to touch him, to cradle him close, to kiss the pain away.

The keys are hanging next to the cell, and Sunny grabs them, unlocks it, and steps right up to M.K., who is tied to the wall. Sunny unties the ones at his feet, then carefully cuts the ones binding his wrists. M.K.’s body sags against the wall.

He then reaches out, and presses his hand to M.K.’s cheek, noting that the other is bright red, fading into a bruise, with three prominent lines having rose. 

“M.K...” He watches as M.K.’s eyes flutter, and M.K. lets out a soft groan of pain and frowns.

“Shh.” Sunny preemptively tells him. “I’m getting you out, then we’re leaving. For good.”

M.K.’s head rolls back and his eyes close.

“No, no, none of that,” Sunny scolds him quietly. “We have to go. Wake up.”

M.K. groans again, and pushes his uninjured cheek weakly into Sunny’s hand, who smiles, briefly, then turns his expression cold.

“Is anything broken?”

“No.” M.K. manages, voice rough. He clears his throat and coughs. “But everything hurts.”

“I know.” Sunny tells him. “You can lean on me. We're leaving now.”

“But, I thought…” M.K. trails off. 

“You're more important.” Sunny says, and against his better judgement, kisses him chastely. “C’mon.”

* * *

They’ve been travelling for weeks, through vagabond towns, trying to stay three steps ahead of the still-loyal Clippers Quinn retains. One night, as they’re travelling the lesser-known dirt roads, M.K. shoves Sunny up against a tree so quickly, with a grace that Sunny hadn't thought was there, that a gust of his breath whooshes out of his lungs in surprise. The tree is rough, spiny needles digging into his skin through his shirt. M.K. slaps a hand over Sunny's mouth. 

“Shh. I heard the nomads. We need to keep quiet.” M.K. is leaned in, right over Sunny's ear, barely even whispering.

Their clothes drape heavily over their body. 

“Follow my lead.” M.K. commands him.

“Bossy.” Sunny quips, and then gets kissed within an inch of his life, M.K.’s hands, rough and calloused, framing his face.

Somehow, the nomads pass them over, because it’s less suspicious to be sneaking around to engage in illicit activities than travelling in the dead of night to leave a hellscape.

* * *

“I think we should stop deluding ourselves.” M.K. says, a week later over a meager breakfast. “I want you. I’ll take anything I can get. I'm greedy like that, but hey, I think I'm allowed when we go through so much already. Whatever you have to offer. I'd be happy.”

“I have nothing to offer you,” Sunny monotones, lying, “I’m only here to survive. I can’t have feelings complicate this.”

“If that’s what you think.” M.K. responds. “But I know – I know differently.” 

“No.” Sunny tells him, firm. “I can't.” His heart almost breaks as he says it. Here in the Badlands – in this wasteland – there's nothing he can do. He can't jeopardize survival for love, as much as he wants to.

M.K. takes a hold of Sunny’s hand. It isn’t shy, his grip is firm, hands calloused from months of practicing and fighting as a Colt. M.K. glares through the sun at Sunny.

“One day…” Sunny softens, his shoulders sloping downwards, and in a quiet voice, admits: “Maybe we could try.” 

Sunny looks at their hands intertwined on his thigh, and back up at M.K., whose face is nothing short of unreadable. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don't know if –” his voice cracks.

He doesn't want to have the discussion – he doesn't want to have this conversation, period. They had it once, however briefly, before. He just wants them to continue on, to get through the wasteland and get to Azra, and then,  _ maybe _ , see if there’s something worth trying for. But for now–

“Don't you feel anything?” M.K. jolts him out of his thoughts. “Isn't there  _ anything _ that you feel for me?” And the heartbreak on the kid's face, because honestly, he’s still a kid in some ways, is killer.

Sunny says flatly, “Loyalty.” He still wants to delude himself into the idea that his feelings are fleeting. After all, isn’t is safer for the both of them if Sunny denies it? 

M.K. scoffs. “Loyalty. That isn’t an emotion. It’s a state of being.”

“Well, that's all I can offer you.” Sunny tells him. “I wish I could offer you something different, something better, but I can’t jeopardize  _ us _ – our  _ survival _ – for a love that might not even work. That might not even want to exist.”

M.K. looks at him, astonished, betrayed, and the wind whips through his hair, the red-orange of the sunset glinting off his tanned skin, and Sunny is distracted.

“So our happy ending that I talked about? You wouldn’t want to try, just out of spite.” 

Sunny holds M.K.’s hand tighter, and gives him a pleading look, which to anyone else would only seem like a slight downturn of the eyes and mouth, if even that. 

“I'm not the,  _ your _ , only option for happiness.”

“You're right.” M.K. concedes. “You're the only answer. But if you think that I might not love you enough?” M.K. continues.

“I’m sorry.” Sunny glances at their interlocked hands, lets go and stands up. He walks over to the edge of the barley field, and stares at the sun, feeling cold as ice. “I wish I could give you a different answer.”

He hears M.K.’s footsteps come up beside him. 

“I wish I could tell you that I love you, without fearing the consequences anymore, that I want to be with you, that I want everything you have to offer me, and more, and that I want a us to live a life that has a happy ending.” He turns his head towards M.K., and continues. 

“But in this world, there are no happy endings, there are no guarantees, and I couldn’t possibly drag you through that, knowing that at any moment,  _ I _ could die,  _ you _ could die. And giving you hope, that something could happen after  _ all of this  _ is just too cruel. And I’ve learned the hard way that if you have something you love, you should give it up because otherwise it’s going to be a shitstorm. And there’s nothing good that can come of loving someone because it could be taken away like that.” He snaps and the sun fades behind the trees, twilight surrounding them in its gloom.

“It’s just that,” he pauses, and M.K. wraps his arms around Sunny, pulling their bodies flush together, “I wish I could give you everything. But I don’t want to break you, I don’t want to break  _ us _ .” 

M.K. pulls back, and kisses him. Once. Quickly. His lips are chapped, just like Sunny’s – he’s sure. Both of theirs would have to be, from the air. He parts from Sunny and looks at him. It’s not their first kiss, but it certainly feels that way.

“I’m sorry.” It’s M.K.’s turn apologizing, and he looks sheepish. “I had to do it, just once, having told you. If I can’t have you … I could at least have that.” 

Sunny thinks to himself for a moment. And then another.

Why is he doing this to himself? After all they’ve been through, after all the pain, the torture, death, isn’t there some part of him that gets to be satisfied? That gets to go on and live a contented life? Even if it means running for his whole lifetime, Sunny muses, shouldn’t it – it would be worth the price of happiness. 

“Fuck it.” And kisses M.K.. 

Kisses him and kisses him and holds him tighter than he ever thought possible. It feels like a promise. Sunny’s not naïve enough to truly believe it, but after the past five years, he thinks he deserves to feel a little hope about the future.

M.K. clutches onto him. “I love you. I didn’t want to take it back the first time, and I certainly don’t want to take it back now. Not if I –  _ we  _ – can try.”

“Okay.” Sunny says, feeling like he’s just finished fighting in a battle. “I can’t guarantee that it’ll be easy – trying to survive, being with me – but I’ll try.”

M.K. just smiles, and kisses him again, nipping at Sunny’s lower lip. 

“I think I’ll be able to handle it.”

* * *

Three months later, they arrive at the gates, emboldened with the logo on Sunny’s compass and M.K.’s necklace. The walls stretch up over their heads, taller than the trees that surround them.

M.K. grips Sunny’s hand like his life depends on it as they hold up their objects and the gates shutter open. 

The sun is blinding, white heat shining above them. 

It is warm. They are safe.

They are home.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been sitting in my Google Docs "FICS" folder since March 22, 2017. I figured it's time to publish it, even if it's not as long as I would've liked. I loved this show back in my senior year of high school, and (still haven't caught up with recent seasons) this spawned from that. Some scenes are rough around the edges, but it was begging me to be finished.


End file.
